Cavities
by LadyLini
Summary: Getting teeth removed means laughing gas – and lots of it! So what happens when Dean needs a few teeth taken out? Rated T for Dean. Destiel.


**Disclaimer: I don't own the CW's ****_Supernatural_**** or any of its characters.**

**A/N: This came to me a few nights ago and I just ****_had_**** to write it down. However, I've never been sedated for any type of medical procedure – thank Chuck – so any inaccuracies there are mine and mine alone. Cookies for anyone that finds the ****_Kansas_**** reference!**

**Now, without further ado… **

* * *

><p>It wasn't like hunting demons had dental insurance. Or health insurance of any kind, for that matter. So, it stood to reason that Sam and Dean didn't take time away from their work just to get their teeth cleaned. However, Dean had had this tooth ache for <em>weeks<em> and it wasn't getting any better. If anything, it was getting worse.

While they were sitting in the booth of some run down diner in Tinytown, Whateverstate, Sam couldn't help but notice that Dean winced every time he bit down on his burger. But it wasn't until Dean fail to gobble down the rest of his pie – the crust was too crunchy – that Sam finally laid into him.

Dean barely put up a fight when Sam demanded he go see a dentist, a testament to just how much the tooth in question truly pained him.

The next morning, the brothers set out in the Impala for the nearest dentist's office. With help from the locals, it took them just over half an hour to find a practice that accepted walk-ins. When they did finally find the office, they spent another few minutes scoping it out, searching for signs that the employees weren't human. They didn't find any.

After parking the Impala in one of the few too-small spaces, Dean tried – and failed – to weasel his way out of actually going in. "We should look again, just to be sure–"

"Dean."

"Maybe call Cas, he'd be able to tell for sure–"

"Dean." Sam activated his bitchface.

"You can't make me."

"For real? Are you scared?"

"No–"

"You're scared, aren't you?"

" 'Course not. Unlike a certain Samantha, I'm a _man_." With that, Dean slid from the driver's seat of his beloved Impala and headed determinedly for the front door of the building.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes before following his older brother into the waiting room, and situated himself in the chair beside Dean, who had already grabbed a clipboard from the receptionist and was balancing it hazardously on his knees.

Dean acknowledged him with a grunt, then went back to scribbling.

Eventually, Dean finished with the papers, though he didn't exactly fill them out truthfully, – being wanted nationwide tended to influence the answers given to those little questions like "name," "age," and "place of residence" – and gave them back to the receptionist, who told him to have a seat and wait to be called.

A few moments later, one of the nurses appeared from the back area and hovered in the doorway, another clipboard on her arm. "Steve Walsh?" She glanced around the waiting room, expectation clear on her features.

When no one moved, Sam turned to his brother. "If you don't get up, I'll make sure Chuck puts every last detail of this in the next book."

Dean's eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

Dean got up.

-l-l-l-l-l-l-

Three and a half hours later, Sam still couldn't stop giving little snort laughs whenever he laid eyes on his brother. When he wasn't snort-laughing, he was smirking.

Dean had endured it for as long as he could by keeping his face carefully hidden by his laptop screen, but he finally snapped. "Would you can it?" he demanded, face beet red, as he slammed the laptop down on the small, square table located under the grimy, nearly-opaque window of their motel room.

With some effort, Sam reigned in his snickers, though he did feel the need to add an "I told you so."

Dean glared at him.

Then Sam was laughing again. "It's just – your _face_ when they told you…"

Dean's expression soured considerably. "This is not a laughing matter," he informed Sam.

"Dean," Sam replied, "You stopped the freaking apocalypse–"

"Congratulations on your observational powers, would you like a gold star?"

"–yet you're freaked out over the fact that you need to _have a tooth out._"

"I thought I told you to can it."

Sam took the hint and shut up for the moment, but he certainly wasn't done berating his brother. After all, wasn't being an annoying pest practically in the younger sibling's job description?

-l-l-l-l-l-l-

The next morning, Dean was awoken by Sam's voice drifting down through his layers of sleep. "I'll bet Cas would be able to fix your teeth."

Dean pushed his face farther into the pillow. "Sammy…" he said in a warning tone.

But Sam persisted. "Seriously though, I'd bet he could."

"I don't need a damn angel to do my dental work."

Sam shook his head disbelievingly. "Sure you don't."

"Go to hell," Dean replied, voice muffled by the pillow.

That never ending smirk was back. "Been there, done that."

-l-l-l-l-l-l-

Four days of tooth jokes and everlasting embarrassment later, at exactly nine-twenty in the morning, Dean pulled the Impala back into the dentist's office parking lot, eyeing the building warily. They were ten minutes early.

Dean noticed Sam open his mouth to make a comment and hurried to cut him off. "I'm going, I'm going," he assured him, tossing his hands up defensively after he'd removed the keys from the ignition.

But when Dean moved to exit the car, Sam called him back. "Keys?" he requested, holding out a hand.

Dean froze. "What?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Relax dude, it's not like I'm going to go drive your car off a bridge or something."

It took another few seconds for Dean to relinquish the keys to his baby, but he did, to a rather amused Sam.

"Do I need to walk you in?" Sam inquired, his voice three octaves too high and far too sugary sweet to be trusted.

Dean glowered. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam watched Dean walk his bow-legged walk into the office, just to make sure that he didn't try something – like calling his angel and requesting a quick teleport out of the vicinity – but the Winchester in question walked straight into the office without any attempts at funny business.

-l-l-l-l-l-l-

A few patients trickled in and out of the dentist's office while Dean was being seen, but they were few and far between, perhaps the product of it being a Thursday afternoon.

By the time Dean reemerged from the office, a nurse following him closely, Sam was bored out of his mind and more than ready to head back to their motel. There was only so much research he could do without wifi, after all.

Now, when Sam had been told Dean may be a bit loopy after the procedure and that he shouldn't drive afterwards, Sam had nodded and given an "uh-huh." He wasn't exactly unfamiliar with a little drowsiness. He had expected Dean to be moving slowly and acting crabby, as if he'd had a too long day.

What Sam _hadn't_ expected was to see his brother come dashing out of the office, the world's hugest smile on his face, arms open as if he were in some cheesy romantic comedy. "_Sammy,_" he cried upon reaching the Impala, "Lemme _tell _ya… Those people are evil."

"Right." Sam nodded and got out of the car to help his brother in. "Evil dentists. What else is new?"

"Full out _demons_ they were," Dean went on. Abruptly, he leaned toward Sam in such a manner as to whisper in his ear. "I think they're working for _Crowley_," Dean added conspiratorially.

Sam raised his eyebrows, amused. "Oh yeah?" he said, pushing Dean toward his car. "And why's that?"

Dean spun away from Sam, taking a few lilting steps away from the Impala. "They stole my teeth!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air, completely offended, "The sons of bitches stole my teeth!"

"Did they now?" Sam asked with a chuckle. "I think that's their _job_," he told Dean, reaching once more for his arm.

Dean yanked his arm away violently, despite Sam's hand not having been anywhere near it. "No!" he yelled. "Nope, not getting in."

"Why not?" Sam asked warily, shoulders sagging. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"I want to _drive_."

"No way." Sam shook his head. "No way are you driving like this."

Dean crossed his arms and didn't respond.

"C'mon, it's like a ten minute trip back–"

"Fine, then I'll drive it," Dean decided, "Glad we could discuss that."

"_Dean–_" But Sam was interrupted by his brother trying to dash around him to the driver's side door. With a small "oompf," Sam caught Dean midway there, containing him as best he could by grasping him tightly around the waist. Dean continued to flail, smacking his younger brother on the shoulders and upper-body. Even on a normal day, Dean fought rough, but drugged up and slightly crazy, Dean was downright _vicious_. "Dean, c'mon man, just let it go–"

"Let me drive, Sammy."

"No."

Dean shoved his heel into the toe of Sam's boot, causing his captor to gasp in surprise and momentarily weaken his grip. He shot like a desperate bullet toward his destination, but his feet were unreliable at best.

At the last second, Sam slid himself between the insensible man and the door.

"Aww, c'mon, Sammy," Dean whined, trying to reach around the taller man to get at the door's handle, "You're no fair."

"You're not driving," Sam retorted. Though he slapped Dean's hands away as quickly as he could, Sam knew it was only a matter of time before Dean got his way. He was stubborn to a fault and that trait amplified by drugs…

Sam knew he had to do something, _anything_, but there was only one person he could think of that could help. With an uncertain yet commanding voice, Sam called, "Cas, – gah! – We need you!"

There was a second's lull in Dean's attempts at the wheel, but after he spared a moment to glance around the still empty parking lot, confirming that the angel had not, in fact, shown up, he continued his assault.

"Cas, c'mon! It's about Dean!" Sam knew he sounded like a whiny little kid, but he didn't quite care. He certainly wasn't going to so much as think about letting his brother drive this way. "A little help here?"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean growled, "You can't stop me."

Sam huffed. "Watch me."

Dean paused and took a step back, blinked, then cocked his head, a trait he'd no doubt picked up from Castiel. "Has anyone ever told you you look like a moose?"

That thoroughly confused Sam. "No…?"

Just then, they both heard the sound of fluttering of wings that always seemed to accompany the brothers' favorite angel's arrivals.

Dean turned around to face the new comer to the debacle. "Hi, Cas!"

He said it with such enthusiasm and a face-splitting smile that Cas turned immediately to Sam. "What happened to him?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "He had to have some teeth out."

Castiel tried to puzzle this together, but ultimately failed. "And that resulted in him… being poisoned?"

Dean took a step forward, toward the angel. "You have really blue eyes," he informed Castiel, "They're like…" he faltered, searching for the right words, "Really blue things," he finished, though with just as much excitement as he'd started the sentence. "Like the ocean! On a super blue day. If I were a thing that swam, I might get lost in them."

"Sam…" Castiel said uncertainly, "Is there an antidote?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "It'll wear off soon, though."

"Will what wear off?" Dean asked, spinning back toward his brother, "I'm perfectly _fine_." He gave a sharp nod of his head that sent him reeling backward, into Castiel. "Oops," he mumbled, appraising his new situation. "Did I tell you about the dentists?" he asked Castiel, "They're evil. One of them tried to follow me out."

Castiel seemed frozen, too perplexed by Dean's antics to say anything.

Dean swayed slightly, giving Castiel a hard time keep them upright. "I mean, she _said_ it was because she didn't want me to hurt myself, but _I'm fine_, so I told her all about how we stopped the apocalypse–"

Sam groaned. "You did _what?_"

"Re_lax_, Sammy–"

Castiel moved to push Dean back to his feet, but Dean twisted in his arms and took his face in his hands. "You're eyes," he said in awe, returning to his original topic of choice, "They're just so_ blue_. Do you wear colored contacts? Is that your secret?"

While Castiel's eyes were indeed blue, they were were currently more accurately described as filled with terror and confusion. "Sam," Castiel gasped, trying and failing to push Dean away, "I understand now why you called."

Sam came up behind Dean and peeled him from the angel, wrestling him back toward the Impala.

Dean looked up at his brother, who was currently towering over him. "I'm driving, right?"

Sam sighed, pretending to give in. "You can drive from the backseat, how's that?"

Dean appeared to think this over for a minute, before finally nodding. "But I need a copilot."

Sam popped one of the the back doors open. "Dean, it's a _car,_" Sam reminded him, "Not a plane."

"A copilot," Dean repeated, "C'mon, Cas!" he called, patting the seat beside him. "You can be my copilot. I don't like flying much anyway. We might fly all the way back to the bunker. Who knows? We might even fly so high that we'll see your dick angel buddies!"

Castiel took a step backward. "I think… I think I'll just meet you there."

Dean's expression filled with horror and he stalled, just feet from entering the Impala. "Then I'm not going anywhere."

Sam turned back to Castiel, an exasperated, tired look on his face. "Please?" he mouthed.

Castiel stood for a moment, deliberating, before marching up to the tangled brothers and grabbing Sam's upper arm and Dean's wrist. "Flying is faster," he decided.

Accompanied once more by the beating of wings, the Winchester brothers and the angel found themselves back at their current motel of choice.

"Thanks, man," Sam said, relief coloring his tone, before turning his attention back to Dean, who was completely bewildered by the experience.

"D'ya remember that one time…" Dean trailed off, searching for the memory. "You flew me to… wherever it was and I didn't poop for a week! Cas, a _whole week!_"

Castiel tightened his grip on Dean's wrist, unsure as to whether or not he was going to need to twist it in self defense.

"Do you know what that does to a person?" Dean demanded. "Not to mention their digestive track?"

"Uhm," Castiel stuttered. "No?"

Dean nodded and turned to Sam. "See? He doesn't know! What if it happens again?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and released the drugged man's hand. "I'm sure your digestive track is fine, Dean. I was very careful."

Dean pouted, but stalked toward one of the two beds in the room anyway. "I'm going to sleep now!" he called over his shoulder. "If you hear me screaming, I'm having a nightmare!" he paused, "Probably. Or maybe there's a clown in the room… No, that's _Sam_ that's scared of clowns… What a wuss…" Dean continued to talk to himself as he pulled the covers over his still clothed torso and got comfortable. "_Sam_ is the one that doesn't like clowns… Cas likes bees… Do bees taste good? I'll bet Cas could make them taste good… _Pie_ tastes good…" Dean perked up at his next thought, shocked by his own brilliance, and bolted upright in bed. "Hey, Cas? Do you think you'd taste good covered in bee flavored pie?"

-l-l-l-l-l-l-

By the time Dean woke up the next morning, the medication had worn off and the last thing he remembered was asking Castiel if he'd taste good covered in _bee flavored pie_. He groaned as he rolled out of bed, idly wondering where he came up with some of the things he said, and took note of the fact that he was still dressed in yesterday's clothes. _That_ was never a good sign.

From across the room, Dean heard feet shuffle nervously, shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Dean glanced up and saw Castiel standing anxiously against the far wall. _Covered in bee flavored pie._ Dean felt his face go red. "Hiya, Cas."

Castiel narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Hello, Dean," he replied.

Sam glanced up from his laptop. "About time you got up."

Dean grinned at Castiel's trepidation, choosing to ignore Sam, before remembering that he couldn't recall most of the previous night. Had he done something? "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

Castiel visibly relaxed and moved away from the wall. "My apologies. It's just… you woke up a few times prior to this and weren't quite… you," he explained.

If Dean was blushing before, he was attempting to become one with a garden of tomatoes now. "How bad?" he asked.

"_Very_ bad," Sam said.

Dean grimaced. "How _very_ bad?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, not much… You gave a rather long speech on the importance of soft toilet paper, explained Poker to Cas, googled tortoise sex…" The list went on, but by the time Sam seemed to be finished speaking, Dean was more than relieved. The stuff was embarrassing, yes, but wouldn't have any lasting consequences.

Dean leaned back on the bed, hands folded behind his head. "That's not so bad, eh? Could've been worse."

Castiel sighed and glared at Sam. "You aren't being completely honest with him," he said, crossing his trench-coat-covered arms over his chest.

Dean felt a pit of unease open in the pit of his stomach. "What else did I do?" he croaked, returning to his previous upright position.

Sam winked at Dean and pointed at their resident guardian angel. "You kissed him."

Dean achieved oneness with the tomato garden.


End file.
